As the moon rose higher, its light fell on a polished shield behind Yolande’s face, and the startling brilliancy of her ethereal head against the shining metal, while all the rest of her figure was in darkness, made her look like some saint with a glowing halo round her. Presently she rose from her knees, kissed Ralph with a sisterly kiss, and said in a calm, soft voice,-- "Cousin mine, I have vowed myself to God. Henceforth I belong not to this world." Ralph bowed his head over her long thin hand, and pressed it to his lips. He could say nothing. In another few minutes a step was heard outside, and old Sir William Lisle entered the room, attended by Magdalen carrying a lighted sconce. Yolande at once resumed her tranquil every-day manner, and placed her father’s chair beside Ralph. The old man sat down heavily, with a little sigh. "So, Ralph, thou art getting on right well, I hear. That’s well. But thou must not think of parting yet. The good folks up to Thruxton can spare thee a while longer. There’s Magdalen here will want thee to ride over the country side, and ’tis thou must see to her, since she’s seen so well to thee. Turn and turn about, say I." And so they talked of other things, but Ralph could only think of his cousin, and wished he was lying in far St Aubin churchyard. But what Sir William Lisle had said was very true. Magdalen Lisle had seen very well to Ralph, and it was to her sharp wits and ready hands he owed his life. Hitherto they had been like brother and sister; but as Ralph grew stronger, Magdalen’s manner slightly changed. She became shyer, more reserved. Yolande had taken at once to the child, and they spent much of their time at the little nunnery of Appuldurcombe, where sister Agnes was allowed to see her daughter. Ralph had been to Newport, and after seeing the relatives of nearly all who had fallen, and gone over the events of the battle until he was utterly wearied, he thought he would set off for Thruxton. While he was thinking of this, sitting listlessly at the hall door, and idling with a pretty goshawk, a figure rode up the rough road across the meadow in front of the manor. Ralph looked up. Not many strangers passed this way. The figure came nearer. Who could it be? It looked like a well-known face--and could it be? Surely that was the voice of one he ought to know? "Well, Ralph, I’m parlous sorry to claim my bird, but I didn’t think I should want it again, and it was only given with an ’if,’ you know." Ralph sprang to his feet. "What! Dicky!" he cried in amaze. "Marry, yes, that’s my name, if you are very familiar, otherwise I am called Richard Cheke, Esquire, or Master Richard Cheke; but don’t let us be too formal." "Why, Dicky, however did you come to life again?" cried Ralph, utterly astounded. "You’re not a ghost, are you?"--for Dicky did look very ill and thin.